Armageddon

“Maybe”

“Get the sultan there” She spun back around, sizing up the roadway. It was straight, relatively flat, and unobstructed—if you didn’t count the two burning cars about thirty yards from the palace gate. “Push the cars off to the side and wait,” she said.

“For what?”

“Just get those cars out of the way.”

South of the Philippines

0653

Mack turned the helm over to his copilot and undid his restraints, stretching as he got out of the pilot’s seat. One advantage the Megafortress had over an F-15—a working galley at the rear of the flightdeck.

Not to mention a microwave and a convenience area, otherwise known as a john. All the amenities of modern life.

The Sparrow had worked well enough for Mack to set the arms dealer down in one piece—and to order another dozen, as well as some heavier arms for his ground soldiers. The first variants of the Sparrow had seen action in Vietnam, where they had proved rather disappointing. The latter versions, however, were considerably more successful.

Unfortunately, the ones they had just bought were early models. Mack knew that some of the failures were due to pilot training—Naval aviators had been behind the triggers, ‘nuf said in his book. But even an air force jock with an oversized ego like Mack Smith had to admit that the hardware wasn’t quite on par with the AMRAAM, let alone Dreamland’s improved version of the AMRAAM, the AMRAAM-plus, also known as the Scorpion.

On the other hand, they were better than no arrows at all.

Mack had a drink of water and went and checked with his men downstairs, giving them all a thumbs-up for a job well done.

“How we looking, Jalan?” he asked his copilot when he returned to the flightdeck.

“On course, sir. Estimated time of arrival is now two hours and three minutes.”

Mack brought up the course screen on the configurable display at the left side of his dash. The wall of instruments that constituted his “office” was infinitely configurable, constructed from a thick layer of touch-sensitive chips. Nearly every Megafortress pilot found it easiest to use a preset one, which divided the dash into large panels of multi-use and devoted displays. Mack had a little trouble with the course module, and it took a minute to get the large-area map he wanted, showing the large island of Borneo and the surrounding water. He then double tapped the compass icon with his finger, and drew the course he wanted.

“Compute,” he told the computer, and a window opened in the screen showing what it would take to patrol the eastern portion of the island where the Sukhois were.

It was a detour, but a strategic detour. He’d have plenty of fuel—as long as he cut over Malaysian territory to get home. “Jalan, we have a new course,” said Mack.

“Yes, sir,” said the copilot, who brought it up on his own screen. He studied it for a moment. “Minister, should I alert Ground to the changes?”

“I don’t believe we’re in range to notify Ground,” said Mack.

“Sir?”

“Let’s stay silent com for a while,” said Mack. “We’re only going to add about an hour to our flight plan, maybe even a little less,” he added, putting his hand to the throttle bar.

Brunei

0654

The men who had put pencil to paper and designed the Cessna Dragonfly some forty years before had set out to accomplish some deceptively modest goals. They wanted to create a sturdy, predictable aircraft that didn’t cost all that much to operate, and yet could provide a novice pilot with a suitable learning environment, one that would help him transition to the hot jets at the time. They surely did not envision that their aircraft—beefed up, to be sure, but still the same basic design—would not only be flying as the century came to a close but would be doing so in combat situations.

And surely they never envisioned doing what McKe

The A-37B’s wings were just a hair under thirty-six feet wide—short maybe for an airplane, but a bit wide for this roadway. But McKe

Problem was, that was where they were pushing the wrecked cars.

Something flashed at the right side of the aircraft as she approached. The explosion was a good distance away but McKe

“FAC, where’s the sultan?” she asked.

“Ready! Ready!”

“Push that other car out of there, way off the road!” she said. “And get down. I’m coming in.”

McKe

As the Dragonfly rolled to a stop, McKe

There was no question of turning around to take off into the wind. The way in front of her was clear, though short.

Could she make it?

The Dragonfly was made for short field operations and this one was light on fuel, with hardly much of a load. More importantly, McKe

“Yee-haw!” she shouted as they cleared the wall at the edge of the highway by a good two inches. “Brunei Dragon One is off the ground and looking for permission to land,” she told her controller.

“Negative, negative—we’re under attack!” said the controller. “Airport is not secure! Airport is not secure!”

McKe

“We can’t land at the airport,” she shouted to him. “But I’ll take care of you, Your Majesty. Don’t fret”

Whether he understood what she said or even heard it all, he gave her a thumbs-up.

Aboard Brunei Air Force EB-52 1 (Jersey), over the Sulu Sea (northeast of Borneo)

0720

Mack studied the radar warning screen, which showed the range of the radar covering the northeast tip of Malaysian territory. The Megafortress was well out of range of the radar, but what was interesting to Mack was the type of radars that had been detected—a large-band system identified as a Russian P-37 Bar Lock, and a shorter-range P-15 Flat Face. Malaysia was not known to possess either, and Mack hadn’t encountered them on Borneo before. The P-15 Flat Face was especially troubling, since it was designed to work with surface-to-air missiles—SA-3s or more capable SA-6s and SA-8s. Any of those missiles could splash an A-37B without breaking a sweat, and even a Megafortress couldn’t afford to completely ignore SA-6s or SA-8s.

“We’re abreast of Sandakan,” reported Jalan, as they reached one of the waypoints programmed for a course change.